


‘Cause There’s This Tune I Found That Makes Me Think of You Somehow

by floosilver8



Series: Do I Wanna Know? [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drunkenness, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, F/M, Masturbation, Missing Scene, Oral Sex, Prequel, Sherlock Series 3 Spoilers, Sherlolly - Freeform, Texting, cheek kissing, mollock, sherlolly end game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 12:10:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1469134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floosilver8/pseuds/floosilver8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly's POV of just before HLV. Involves how her relationship with Tom ended, and a little into the beginning of HLV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thursday

**Author's Note:**

> There isn't that much explicit content, sorry in advance.
> 
> This is, in my mind, a prequel to _[And I Play it On Repeat Until I Fall Asleep](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1288744)_.

Molly has had a long day at work. Several strange poisoning deaths had come in (all different, banal causes as it turned out) and she had a lot of paper work to catch up on. On top of that, one of her trainees completely broke a lens on one of the new lab microscopes.

She sits hunched over her desk, trying to eat lunch between the mountain range of documents. Her tea is poised at her lips when her phone beeps with its obnoxious txt alert. _I should really change that._ It’s a fairly new phone and she hasn’t had the time to figure everything out yet.

_(1) New Message from: Mary Morstan_

_“Nurses are going for drinks tonight. Don’t resist, you’re coming out! I command it! I get to drink vicariously through you all!xxx"_

Mary’s pregnancy announcement after the wedding had been a fantastic surprise. Molly had somehow been sucked into Mary’s world by default because of John (and Sherlock), and their shared careers in medicine. It had been rather exciting for Molly. She didn’t have many close friends and Mary was a delight to be around.

 _“You couldn’t stop me! I need it after a day like today! See you then -Mx”_ She did need a girls’ night out. A release from working with the dead - and unskilled students.

-

Molly shows up at the trendy bar right after Mary and her small entourage.

“Molly! Yay you made it! Do you have to work tomorrow morning? Never mind, don’t answer that, I don’t care! I want to watch you all get pissed and then take hilarious photos of you doing stupid things. This is my greatest joy as a temporarily sober woman.”

Mary is full of energy and light as usual. Her friends are all quite nice as well. Molly’s been out with them before  - Mary’s hen-do, and twice since she and John returned from their honeymoon. Mary always helps her feel part of the gang. They order drinks and sit at a high table by the windows – that way they can scope who is coming and going for the single gals among them. The Marrieds and Almost-Marrieds are relegated to wing-women but it’s good fun anyway.

Two drinks into the night Molly and Mary find themselves alone. The other girls have apparently pulled early, or bowed out gracefully. Molly likes it a little better this way. It’s quieter and she and Mary can actually talk.

“Go on then, darling, let’s dish on our men,” Mary says over the din of the bar. “I think John’s going stir crazy. Hasn’t been on a case with Sherlock since before our honeymoon.” Molly smiles nods in understanding. “So, how’s Tom treating you?”

“Oh good, good. We’re good!”

“Set a date for the wedding yet?”

“Oh yeah, no. Not yet. Tom needs to wait until he knows his schedule a little better.” This is Molly’s go-to excuse. In reality she’s not sure why their wedding planning stalled. She got engaged several weeks before John and Mary did...and Sherlock returned.

Molly can sense Mary scrutinizing her, but the two glasses of wine on basically an empty stomach makes Molly’s judgement a little fuzzy around the edges.

“What is it that Tom does again?”

“Freelance writer.”

“Ah...so...how is his schedule the issue?”

“Oh you know, magazine print deadlines are so strange. Long lead times and things.” Molly waves her hand around vaguely and takes another sip from her third glass of wine.

“Uh-huh.”

Molly squints at Mary, “What?”

“Nothing...nothing,” she tries to smile kindly but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’m sure you’ll set a date soon.” Mary sips her ginger beer, “And then you’ll find domestic bliss like John and me!” she says a little more brightly. “Sherlock says John’s put on seven pounds. I knew it was a bit, but seven? So quickly? I hope it’s not sympathy baby weight.” They both chuckle.

“Do you see Sherlock a lot then?” Molly tries to ask casually but his name catches in her throat a little.

“Oh, yeah! His favourite thing is to swap John stories and my favourite thing is hearing them so it works wonderfully.” Mary’s watching Molly again but doing a good job at hiding it. “Have you seen him around Bart’s recently?”

“John?” Molly asks confused.

“No,” Mary looks at Molly a little more pointedly, “Sherlock.”

“Oh, him. No, no.” She clears her throat, “Not really. Well...he does come in to check on his experiments at least once a week. And we keep in touch about things he needs for them.” _And he’s taken kips at my flat when he’s needed to._

“Uh-huh. He was talking about you the other day.”

 _He was?_ “Oh?”

“Yeah, telling me about the day you spent together solving crimes last year. It came up because I had said he should get an alternate ‘blogger’, since John isn’t live-in anymore. I had been trying to hint at a girlfriend!” She giggles, “Or boyfriend! Whatever!” Molly just smiles and nods. “That’s when he told me about the lonely train guy you met.”

“Oh, yeah. He was such a nice man. I do hope he’s found someone to share his love of trains with.” Molly takes a sip of her drink, “It was a lot of fun. I wish I could...do it again.”

“Sherlock said you did really well as his...companion. Not many people could stand to be around him that long, especially on cases.”

“Is that right?” Molly turns her head as she takes a sip of her drink, so Mary can’t see as she smiles into her glass.

Mary just nods and takes out her phone, “Well, anyway, I’m determined to know everything there is to know about your Tom. Is he on Twitter or Facebook? I’m adding him right now. We should set up a double date! Oh that would be fun! I’m so glad I thought of it!”

The two women spend another hour chatting before calling it a night. While walking to the Tube station Molly finally checks her phone.

_(1) New Message from: Tom Altamont_

“Oh shit.” _Forgot to tell him I was going out._

_"You’re out of milk. Pick some up on your way home. -Tom”_

Maybe it’s the drink, but Molly gets a little annoyed. He apparently didn’t show any concern for the fact that she was late and hadn’t phoned. Needing milk also means she has to walk out of her way to the newsagents and deal with the creepy owner who always scowls at her. “And I was having such a nice evening, too.” _...But I could get a giant Dairy Milk for dinner. Mmm. Sorted._


	2. Friday

The next day, Molly again has to eat lunch while she works because that’s just how this week was going. She’s just about to bite into her cold and slightly soggy sandwich from the canteen when Sherlock walks in. _Damn it, what now?_

“Molly. You haven’t eaten yet. Good.” He sets a paper sack down in front of her. “Take away from that café around the corner. Still warm, eat up.”

She looks at him stunned for a moment before coming to her senses and rolling her eyes. “What do you need, Sherlock?”

“Need? Nothing. Just my weekly visit.”

“You’ve brought a bribe though.” She starts unpacking the sack. If he’s going to bribe her for favours she’s at least going to enjoy them while they’re warm.

His eyes grow wide with astonishment for a second before returning to their steely gaze. “Not a bribe, Molly, an observation. You consistently run out of lunch ideas by Friday, or you are too busy to get a nice one. I’ve solved your problem for you.”

She blinks at him for several seconds. “Um. Wow. Thank you, Sherlock. This is...great.”

He flits around the lab checking on his experiments. “Did you have a nice night out with Mary?” he asks while scrutinizing some slides.

“Oh, did she tell you we went out?”

“Yes. And you have traces of green ink from the bar stamp on the back of your left hand.”

“Oh!” She licks her thumb and tries to rub at the offending not-really-that-visible mark. “Yes, we had a nice time.”

“Did... _Tom_...join you?” He sort of stumbles over her fiancé’s name but it’s not out of the ordinary. He can’t even remember Greg Lestrade’s first name and they’ve known each other for almost a decade.

“Ah, no. Just a girl’s night.”

“Good.” He clears his throat quietly, “I mean, that’s nice.”

The risotto he brought her is absolutely gorgeous – warm and seasoned perfectly. “Mmm,” she moans after finally taking the first bite, “this is bloody perfection, Sherlock.” She’s engrossed in eating when she notices the lab’s gone quiet. Sherlock had been shuffling things around on one of the work stations but now he’s staring at her. His gaze is steady and piercing. “Is something wrong? Have I got food on my face? Did one of the students mess with your work?”

He clears his throat and looks away quickly. “No, no. Just...nothing.” He paces a few steps and finally declares, “Thank you for your time, Molly.” And he leaves at a brisk pace.

“Umm...bye.” She says weakly after him. _That was weird. ...But no weirder than usual._

-

She’s still at work and it’s an hour past when her shift was supposed to end when her phone beeps irritatingly. “I really need to change that tone.”

_(1) New Message from Mary Morstan_

_“Did you know Tom got low marks on his A-levels?”_

What the-? _“I know he didn’t do as well as he would have liked. Why are you asking?”_ She types back.

_“No reason. Drinks again next week?”_

_“I’d love to but I have a late shift on Thursday.”_

_“Friday then?”_

_“I look forward to it!”_ Molly shakes her head and lets the inquiry into Tom roll off her back. _Mary can be just as odd as Sherlock sometimes._


	3. Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tharrr be bits of explicitness ahead.

It’s an absolutely beautiful June afternoon and all of London has their windows open in appreciation of the perfect weather. Molly is finally getting to relax on her couch. Tom is seated next to her watching telly while she reads. It’s a new book which she wishes she had more time to devote to reading. It gripped her right away and now that she has the time, she doesn’t want to put it down.

Just as the protagonist is confronting her demons, she realises Tom’s hand has shift from her shoulder to caressing her breast. _Oh._ _Subtle._ She shifts to try to shake it away – the story has gotten really good. Tom’s hand is unmoved and he begins to kiss her earlobe. _Damnit._ She can’t resist that one. The ear is a particularly erogenous zone for her.

She sighs and marks her page. _Better get this over with. ...No, not ‘over with.’ That’s a terrible thing to think. This is nice._ She turns her head and smiles as Tom catches her mouth passionately.

After snogging on the couch for several minutes, Tom guides her to kneel on the floor and remains seated in front of her, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. She gets the obvious hint and undoes his button and zip before pulling his trousers down around his calves. She closes her eyes as she takes his hard cock into her mouth. She strokes him slowly like she knows he likes. He breathes deeply and moans quietly at her handy-work.

Molly swirls her tongue around the head, hitting the sensitive underside and tasting precum on the tip. She’s encouraged by his heavy breathing so her strokes become faster and firmer, one hand caressing his bollocks. She takes him deeply into her mouth and his hand finds the back of her head. He holds her steady by her hair and pumps his hips slightly, pushing himself further into her throat. She squeaks in protest and he pulls back, but keeps hold of her head. She continues her ministrations and feels him approach his release. She begins to pull her mouth away, like she usually does when he’s this close, but he holds her in place.

“Finish me off?” he whispers.

She wrinkles her nose and pulls away forcefully but continues stroking him. The idea of him cuming in her mouth does not appeal to her right now. She pushes up his shirt and caresses his chest for a moment. She knows what will get him off efficiently. She basically milks his cock for cum as she squeezes his bollocks tenderly with her other hand. He lets out a throaty gasp, along with his release. She strokes him through his orgasm and makes sure his cum stays mostly on his stomach or her hand.

He catches his breath while she cleans her hands off on a tissue. “Be right back,” he says hitching up his trousers and striding to the bathroom to clean up. Suddenly very in-the-mood, Molly lazily walks to her bed, to wait for him to clean up and return the favour.

A loud buzzing comes from the direction of the bathroom. Tom answers his phone, “Hello?...Yes...Yes...Right now?...Yeah, I can do that....Ok, I’ll be there.” Molly hears shuffling and he eventually pops his head into her room. “Sorry, Mols that was my editor. They need me to come in to discuss my piece and meet with some people.” He steps over to the edge of the bed and leans down to kiss her on the forehead. He never kisses her on the mouth after she goes down on him. He thinks it’s weird.

“But it’s Saturday,” she protests.

“I know.” He makes a face as he steps back toward the door. “I’ll call you when we’re done. We’ll still go to the pub just like we planned.” He smiles and exits her room. With quick steps he's down the hall and to the door to her flat. “Bye, darling!”

She doesn’t bother to get up to see him out. “Bye!” she responds weakly. After she hears the door close behind him she lets out a frustrated sigh. _How annoying and unsatisfying!_ She considers going back to her book in the sitting room, but then she realises she’ll be completely alone for a bit and could do anything she wanted. ... _Anything_.

Debauched thoughts flash through her mind and she bites her bottom lip, smiling wickedly. “If he’s not here to please me, I can still please myself.” Under her bed she finds her secret box. There are several shoe boxes under her bed – with actual shoes in them – so he would never have noticed this particular one tucked away behind the others. Not that Tom was any good at deductions. _No, that’s reserved for Sherlock_.

She lifts the lid and unwraps her toy. It’s not very large, just a little something to help ease her tension once and a while. She hasn’t used it since.... _Since you used to fantasise about Sherlock coming back and finally taking you_...before Tom entered her life. Tom’s always been perfectly able to satisfy her so there’s been no need. _...Except it could have come in handy when he fell asleep in the middle of foreplay that one time...two...wait, three times._

Fishing fresh batteries from the drawer of her desk, she tucks her legs under the duvet. She removes her clothes slowly, teasing no one but herself. _Mmm, yes_. She pulls her hair out of its pony tail and lets it fall over her left breast, it tickles her nipple satisfyingly and she settles back down into the bed.

She takes deep breaths and just runs her hands over her body for a second, warming them on her thighs and stomach. She bends her knees and plants her feet before slowly spreading her legs. She revels in the cool of the air on her hot sex for a moment. _When exactly was the last time I did this? ...Sherlock had just txted to check-in while he was "dead”. You imagined it was him...his hands on your body._

She tilts her hips back as if grinding on something...or someone. Her hands wind their way back up her stomach, caress her breasts, and tweak her nipples gently. She moans quietly at her own movements. Blood pumps forcefully in her lower abdomen and groin.

Her right hand snakes between her legs and her fingers open up her folds. _Sherlock’s hands._ She’s already soaking wet from just the thought of him. She reaches for her toy and switches it on very low. She won’t need much to get off. Doesn’t even need the toy, really. Just thinking of Sherlock makes her hot and wet. She feels slightly guilty about it, but it’s just fantasy – and _everyone_ fantasizes – so she shrugs it off.

With a gentle touch she brings the vibrating toy to her thigh first. She gets used to the sensation before guiding it, teasing it, around her sex. _Fuck_. She hasn’t been this turned on in a while. Too much stress and everyday life clouding her brain. She sighs and tries to think of nothing at all, but images keep flickering in her mind’s eye, a dark coat with red buttonholes, a hand on a microscope knob, a hand on a violin bow, a chaste kiss on the cheek...cupid’s bow lips...a freckle of brown in his right eye above the pupil... _his...lips...his hands..._

Molly’s breathing is ragged and she’s pumping the toy into her opening with enthusiasm. She digs the fingers of her free hand into her thigh and gasps for air as she reaches the edge of oblivion.  _Fuck_. “Yes! Shit. Fuck!” _Sherlock_ , “Fuck me!” She bucks into her orgasm, muscles clenching, blood buzzing through her limbs. She turns off the toy and tosses it aside as she relishes in tingles still radiating from her body and comes down from her high. _Moved on. Definitely moved on._ She lets out a sigh but doesn’t know if it’s from acquiescence or regret...or both.

She considers taking a short nap but the tell-tale buzzing of her phone quashes that idea for the moment. She throws on her dressing gown and practically skips to the sitting room to retrieve her mobile.

_(1) New Message from Sherlock Holmes_

_“May I come in? Need to clear my head – SH”_

Her fingers work of their own accord typing out, _“Yes.”_

Hot panic catches her breath in her throat with her sudden realisation. _Why the fuck did I say yes?!_ She runs back to her room to tidy up the evidence of her adventures. She shoves the toy back in its box ( _I’ll take care of it when he’s gone_ ) and returns the box to its place under her bed. Then she grabs her discarded clothes and hastily dumps them in her wardrobe and shoves the door closed. She rushes back to let him in and swings the door open for him – standing mostly behind it – just as he reaches the landing.  He breezes right in with a curt nod and tight smile.  “Hullo, Sherlock.” she says, trying to regulate her breathing to sound normal.

He doesn’t look at her as he removes his coat. “Don’t want to put you out for too long, Molly. Just need a quick kip to work something out.” He promptly strides through the sitting room and down the hall toward her bedroom.

 _Oh, God._ She chases after him unable to think of an excuse why he can’t be there.

He comes to an abrupt halt in the doorway to her room. His head tilts almost imperceptively to one side for a split second. He sniffs as if his nose is itchy, then clears his throat and takes the few steps toward her bed. He sits on the edge to remove his shoes.

She stands, still in the hallway, just looking at him sitting on her bed. She tries desperately to paint a casual look on her face but her insides are churning. _What can he deduce? Everything. Always, everything. This is inappropriate. I should not be thinking of orgasms when he's here._

“Don’t let me keep you from your _shower_ , Molly.” He says swinging his legs onto the bed, and under the duvet, exactly where she was just pleasuring herself. He pulls it up to his chest and stares at her. His gaze is heavy and piercing, and full of understanding.

Unable to fully breathe she licks her lips but her voice is still weak, “My...yes. Of course.” _This is fine. Be cool_. She hesitates, her brain still not fully functioning. Finally, she turns toward the bathroom door and commits to acting out the cover story he’s given her.

She starts the water in the tub and hangs her dressing gown on the back of the door. The latch apparently hadn’t caught all the way and the door pops open ever so slightly at her touch. The panic is back for a moment but when nothing else happens she relaxes slightly. She hides herself behind the door and takes a peak to check where Sherlock is.

He’s lying on his side, duvet now up to his chin, with his eyes closed and face half buried in her pillow. _Sleeping._

She breathes a sigh of relief and closes the bathroom door firmly. For added comfort, she turns the lock as well.

After her quick shower she pulls on pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt she had left in there earlier. She glances toward her bedroom when she exits but the door is now closed. She takes a settling breath and decides to finish her book while she has the time.

She tries to remain alert but within 10 minutes she’s dozing off with the book resting open across her stomach, and Toby curling up on her legs.

A while later she’s woken by the sound of her phone beeping. She ignores it for a moment as she regains consciousness. She stretches and snuggles Toby when she upsets him from his place. Her phone beeps again three minutes later. She sighs and retrieves it from the table.

_(2) New Messages from Tom Altamont_

_“Won’t see you tonight. Have to go to Manchester for a story. Will be back Tuesday evening.-Tom”_

_“Oookay?”_

Now she feels a little bad for neglecting her phone _. “Sorry, Toby was demanding attention. Also sorry you have to be away! Have a safe journey. Hope it’s a good story. -Mx”_

 _“Thank you x”_ she gets in reply.

She hears rustling from her room and checks the time. It’s been about an hour since her shower...and Sherlock’s arrival. He emerges looking pleasantly rested and carrying his shoes. “Thank you for the use of your bed. I hope it wasn’t an inconvenience.” He takes a moment to look at her and observe, “Didn’t mean to put you out on the sofa. You could have come in...and kicked me out.”

She shakes her head, “Not at all. I was just reading.”

He nods and gives a half smile. “Well, I’ll leave you alone now. I’m sure you’re expecting to see Tom this evening.”

“Oh, not anymore,” she blurts out. She bites her bottom lip.

“Oh?” he raises one questioning eyebrow at her.

She swallows and tries to sound casual, “Yes, something from work came up. He’s gone to Manchester for a few days.” _I don’t know why I’m telling you this._ Her voice trails off with the last sentence and she rubs her forehead distractedly.

He just remains very still, looking at her. “Ah. I see.” He manages finally, sitting down on her armchair to put on his shoes. It takes a few tries for his suddenly awkward fingers to tie them. When he’s finished with the laces he stands and steps closer. He looms over her, mere inches away, and gazes into her eyes. She finds it hard to look at him, but even harder to look away. “You could have dinner with me,” he says in his thick baritone voice.

She swallows and licks her lips unconsciously. She considers saying ‘yes’. _Just friends. We’re just friends._ But she can’t. She smiles sweetly, but it quickly falters and she looks down at her hands without saying anything. _I wish we could._

He tips her chin up and they look at each other for a long, tense moment. “Maybe another time.” He smiles down at her and leans in to kiss her cheek. He lingers and his warm breath tickles her ear making her heart flutter. She licks her lips and swallows hard.

Finally, he straightens up and steps back, “Thank you again, Molly.” He’s grabbed his coat and is out the door before she can move or say anything.

When the door is firmly closed behind him she rushes over and turns the bolt. She stares at the door for a moment. _Gah! This is stupid!_ _Pull yourself together!_ She swirls around angry at herself and returns to cuddling Toby in the sitting room.

She makes herself a cuppa a short while later, intent on returning to her book. Before she can sit back down her phone beeps.

_(1) New Message from Mary Morstan_

_“Tom just tweeted that he doesn’t ‘get’ chocolate digestives. How can you stay with him?! ;)”_

Molly laughs to herself, _“Ha! We’ve had that argument several times. It’s something I endure.”_ She did endure his lack of a sweet tooth. It could be annoying at times but it wasn’t a deal breaker, obviously. _Obviously_.

That night, when she finally curls up in bed, the smell of Sherlock overwhelms her. She buries her face in her pillow, and pulls the duvet almost completely over her head to bask in the scent. Drifting off to sleep is easy for her tonight.


	4. Sunday

Molly enjoys her lie-in even though Toby has taken residency on her head. “You’re a weird cat.” She extracts him and begins her routine. She’s half-way through breakfast when her phone beeps. “My, aren’t I the popular one?” she says to Toby. He just saunters to his water bowl.

_(1) New Message from Sherlock Holmes_

_“I require your assistance with revisiting an experiment this afternoon. Are you free around 4pm? – SH”_

She groans. _No. No, sorry, Sherlock. Washing my hair, Sherlock. Doing my nails, Sherlock. Shaving my legs, Sherlock. No. No don’t say that one. Otherwise engaged, Sherlock. Engaged._ “Sherlock.” she sighs to herself. She clears her throat and shakes her head to clear it. “It’s just an experiment. We do this all the time.” _Just friends_.

_“Sure. Bart’s or Baker Street? - Mx”_

_“Ye Olde Mitre Tavern. It’s near Bart’s. – SH”_

_What? “A pub? - Mx” Seriously, a pub?!?!_

_“Yes. John and I need to recalculate our optimal alcohol intake and I need your input and observations. – SH”_

She rolls her eyes but breathes a little easier.

_“Also, Mary wants female companionship. – SH”_

She can’t help but smile broadly _, “Well then I’d be more than happy to oblige. See you all there. - Mx”_

\--

She arrives at the pub a little bit late. It’s a rustic old place, down an alley and not the easiest to find. When she enters the pub she spots John standing at the bar.

“John!”

“Molly!” They embrace briefly, “So glad you made it. Sherlock’s been an absolute pain about getting this right. Mary had to nag me.” He clears his throat as Molly shoots him an incredulous look. “Convince me. I meant convince me,” he says with a mischievous smile.

“Are we upstairs?” she says looking around the small ground floor.

“Yes, I was just ordering food for the table. Sherlock will fill you in on the, um, rules.”

“Parameters?”

“That’s it. Go on I’ll be right there.”

Molly climbs the stairs to the upper floor. It’s a very small room with a few high tables and stools. Sherlock and Mary have claimed one of the tables and several different graduated cylinders sit empty on its surface. Sherlock’s face is blocked by the papers he’s reading.

“Molly!” Mary practically screams at her and hops up to give her a hug.

“Hi, Mary! How lovely to see you again so soon.” Molly is forced to sit next to Sherlock, partly by Mary’s gentle ushering, and partly because John’s coat is draped over the other free stool. “Hullo, Sherlock. Nice to see you as well.”

“Molly,” he says curtly, “Thank you for coming.”

“Sure. Have you recalculated the ideal amounts, or are we just recreating the same conditions as an additional data set?”

Sherlock glances at her for a moment, “Mm. John did admit to tampering with our intakes during his stag night. But I would also appreciate it if you took another look at the data.”

“Are you saying I was wrong?” she says teasingly.

“What? No.” He does a concerned double take between her and the chart he’s reading. “No! John’s put on half a stone in the interim. I need to know how that affects the ideal intake and/or duration.”

“Alright let me see it.” She leans in, hovering over the papers and reviews her previous calculations. She makes notes and reaches for other charts as John returns to the table with chips and the bar’s famed “bowl of olives”.

It takes her just a few more moments to finish her recalculations. “Ok, got it. Sherlock your intake should remain the same at 443.7ml, for nine drinks, as long as you eat something along with your first...um...not-a-pint. John you may imbibe up to 445ml nine times, making sure to urinate as we indicated in the previous parameters.”

Everyone’s eyes are on her. John and Mary both look slightly disgusted at the mention of urine, but Sherlock’s gazing at her with nothing but affection and pride, “Fantastic.”

Shocked by his compliment she stares at him for a moment. Mary looks between them both, smiling with a chip in hand and says, “And what about your ideal intake, Molly?”

“For nine drinks? Oh gosh, hang on.” She flips over one of the charts to make calculations using her own known data.

“No, you’ve lost three pounds.” Sherlock leans over her work and points at where she’s marked her weight. She turns and blinks at him. He holds her gaze for a moment, bewildered and then looks to John and Mary for help. John’s is a combination of surprise and amusement. Mary’s eyes are slightly wide, turning to stare back at Sherlock. “I didn’t say you _needed_ to lose weight, just noting that you _had_. I thought that was good...” He turns to Mary, “Is that... _not_ good?”

“No, no it’s fine.” Molly says finally, patting his hand once. “Should have known.” She resumes her calculations and Sherlock noticeably relaxes. After a few more minutes she sets her pen down definitively, “Got it. 392ml of lager or 86.25ml of white wine.”

“Excellent. And which are you in the mood for today?” Sherlock asks.

“Wait, what? You want to get pissed on a Sunday?”

“No, no. Not completely anyway. We will only imbibe six units each, taking a short exam based on the GCSE before and after to compare effects of alcohol on intellect. Mary will administer tests and monitor intake.”

“Right.” Mary says with a smile. “Sounds like a laugh. I’ll get them in then, shall I?” She grabs two identical cylinders.

“Molly, why don’t you accompany her? Quality control.” Sherlock says with his forced smile.

“Right,” Molly jumps up, grabbing a cylinder for herself and following Mary downstairs. They order their measures from a confused barman. Mary orders a lime squash and soda for herself.

“I genuinely hope Sherlock washed these before deciding to use them.” Molly says with an amused smile while they wait for the drinks.

“Ah, yeah try not to think about it. Won’t the alcohol kill all the bacteria anyway? I’m sure you’ll be fine.” They both laugh. “Wish I could join in the fun. We’ll have to convince Sherlock to try for a third data point after this alien has emerged from my body.” She grins cheekily and rubs her still perfectly flat stomach. “I was going to ask after Tom but I just saw you, didn’t I?” She continues to smile warmly at Molly.

“I know! This is lovely.”

“He tweeted something about going to Manchester? I assume that’s why he’s not here with you.”

“Oh, yeah. For work. He’ll be gone until Tuesday.”

“Aw that’s too bad.”

Molly shrugs and grins, “Sometimes it’s nice to get to spend time alone with Toby. He can be so needy.”

“Tom or Toby?” Mary says feigning shock.

Molly considers it with mock drama, “Ummm both?” Both women laugh heartily.

They collect their drinks and head back upstairs. Sherlock has the examination sheets and pencils ready for each of the drinkers. There are only two questions per subject so it doesn’t take them a terribly long time to complete.

John’s the last to turn in his paper, “Sherlock cheated.”

Sherlock looks indignant, “What? How?”

“You knew all the answers because you had to compile the questions!”

“Actually Mrs. Hudson compiled the questions. If you don’t like the results you can bring it up with her.” John looks incredulous but is silenced when Sherlock holds up his cylinder, “Cheers.” They all clink glasses and sip.

Molly accompanies Mary to get each new round and Sherlock keeps track of their progress on his phone app. Molly relishes in the lovely feeling of gradual inebriation. They talk about nothing in particular, old cases, mutual acquaintances and general topics. There may be more than one joke made at Sherlock’s expense – always delivered by John.

“The client’s dog humped Sherlock’s leg the _whole time_! I was dying!” John laughs while the women try to hold it together by cooing gently at Sherlock.

“It wasn’t the whole time, John!” he insists with a pout. “Don’t be hyperbolic.”

“Aww, never mind, Sherlock, it’s over now.” Molly smiles and pats his back reassuringly. Her reactions are delayed slightly from the drink so her hand lingers longer that it normally would have.

He sits up straighter, pushing lightly into her touch. “Thank you, Molly,” he pats her knee under the table in a friendly manner. _Yes, friendly_.

“Right, final round is it?” Mary stands and grabs the boys’ empty cylinders. “Molly, my dutiful assistant?”

They go downstairs to the bar for the sixth time that evening. By this time the barman knows exactly what they need.

“Actually,” Mary begins, “can we also get two shots for this round?”

Molly looks faux scandalized, “You’re messing with the data?! That’s so mean to do to them!”

“Them? These are both for Sherlock.” Mary gives her a wicked look and Molly just laughs and twiddles her fingers together maniacally. Mary pours both shots into Sherlock’s cylinder before the barman fills it up.

They catch John on his way back up the stairs when they begin their ascent, “Mandated nip to the loo. Did you do it?” Mary nods and grins, “That’s my girl.” He kisses her on the temple.

“You are both evil,” Molly says beaming.

“And you’re an accomplice,” Mary smirks back.

They resume the experiment with a final toast and clinking of glasses. As they all take sips of their drinks, Molly’s eyes flit between the other three. John and Mary are purposefully avoiding looking at Sherlock. Molly has to use all of her willpower not to giggle when Sherlock wrinkles his nose.

“This tastes different,” he remarks.

“Yeah, I noticed that too. Bottom of the keg I imagine,” John says convincingly. “Happens all the time. You get used to it.”

“I wonder if that will affect our data.” Sherlock says mostly to himself. He’s noticeably looser than when the experiment started. His gestures are more purposely controlled which makes them slightly wild.

The three drinkers are all pleasantly buzzed, Sherlock obviously a little further along than he should have been. He’s still keeping track on his phone and rattling off a projection of what the data could reflect if they proceeded to the nine drinks. Everyone else agrees that the reduced scope is better.

A while later the final round comes to a close with the administering of another test. Unfortunately, the papers have been poorly taken care of during the evening and are pocked with drink and food stains. Molly has to work around a splatter of tomato sauce on question seven.

“Do I get extra points for incorporating the olive into my diagram of a molecule?” John asks.

“No!” Sherlock bites back. He’s obviously not doing as well on his exam as he would have liked. He blinks at his paper several times. “This is...I can’t even...”

Molly and Mary can’t hold it in anymore and both burst out laughing. John tries to look confused at them but also starts smiling.

Sherlock narrows his eyes at all of them, “Why are you laughing?”

Molly coughs and returns to her test. Mary is beet red from laughing. John’s trying to calm her down but is just as amused. “Nothing, mate. Nothing. She’s had too much sugar tonight.”

Sherlock continues his steely gaze, “No. You did something. You...Gah! John! Not again!” He shouts a little too loudly. The other patrons all stop what they’re doing to stare at him. He rests his face in his hands in frustration, “This was such a waste,” he growls through his fingers.

“Aww, Sherlock I’m sorry! If it makes you feel any better...it was all John’s idea.” Mary says mock comfortingly.

“Oi!” John exclaims still grinning and laughing, “But Mary executed it beautifully.” He kisses her on the cheek and nuzzles into her shoulder.

She giggles as well, “I better get this one home before it becomes uncomfortable for everyone else. We should have only done five drinks to start.” She elbows John and tells him to behave.

They do decide to call it a night since the experiment is over - and those with ‘real’ jobs have to work in the morning. Molly is hugged by a still-giggling John, and a grinning Mary, before they leave in a cab. Sherlock broods against a light post, clutching his small box of graduated cylinders and flasks.

Molly turns to him finally, “Thank you for asking me to assist you, this was one of your more amusing experiments.”

Sherlock pushes himself to standing and stumbles into her. She puts a steadying hand on his chest and another around his waist. “Except it was ruined by John _again_!” he says overdramatically.

Molly rubs him on the back reassuringly. “It’s ok, Sherlock. John and I kept to the limits. Our data is still usable!” she says enthusiastically. “And I watched Mary put two shots in your last drink so you only have to readjust your exam score for the amount consumed. It should still be within the margin of error.”

Sherlock lifts his head up and looks at her suddenly realising, “That’s true! Thank you, Molly!” He tries straightening up and turning to walk down the street but he stumbles again, almost dropping his box.

“Steady.” Molly smiles and keeps a hold of him, “Here, let me take the box, you concentrate on walking.” She takes it and puts it in her bag. He rests an arm around her shoulders. She glances up to check on him and he’s staring at her intently.

“There’s an alley at the end of this street that will get us to Farringdon quicker.” His gaze his really intense despite his inebriation.

“Ok,” she breathes and has to look away. _Just friends._

They start to walk to the end of the street toward the alley, Sherlock’s arm still around her shoulders, her arm around his waist.  They have to manoeuvre around a bollard in the middle of the pavement and Sherlock stumbles against her again. Molly has to walk backward a few paces which puts her against a wall. Sherlock has ended up pinning her there, trying to hold himself up. They stare at each other for several seconds. He blinks slowly down at her like he can’t believe she’s there.

Possibly out of nervousness, Molly rocks back on her heels, and then rises up on her tiptoes. It inadvertently brings her face closer to his. She freezes when she realises and just stares back at him.

“You can’t do this, Molly Hooper.” He dips his head down, “You shouldn’t even be here right now.” He slowly brings a hand to the side of her neck.

“We just had a few drinks, Sherlock. As friends,” she says unconvincingly. He huffs out a laugh.

“Yes we did... _friend_ ,” he smiles at her warmly. His gaze never leaves her eyes, and she can feel the flush creep up her neck.

 _Smouldering_ _jackass._ She keeps her breathing even, despite her heart threatening to burst from her chest. She holds his gaze, “I hope you really do think of me as a friend.” _What is he doing?_   She really does want to be confirmed as his friend. It’s so hard to tell when he’s so hot and cold. Right now was particularly...searing

His smile widens for a second as he leans in slowly and kisses her cheek. _Like he always does. Did...twice...no, three times. Gah, who’s counting?_ He pulls back and they continue to look at each other for a moment. She turns her face away finally breaking their staring contest, “I should go home and feed Toby.”

“And reply to all the messages Tom’s left you this evening.” He straightens up and walks swiftly toward the alley.

She sighs and follows after him. They walk in silence and without incident to the Tube station.  They board the same eastbound train and it stutters as it pulls out, causing them both to lose their balance for a second. They grab the same support pole and his hand covers hers for a moment. He towers over her but she doesn’t look at him, and soon his hand is gone. Their closeness is short lived. He only nods curtly at her when she returns his box and changes trains at Kings Cross.

\--

That night she just lies in her bed, staring at the ceiling appreciating her buzz. She answers Tom’s messages satisfactorily, but with no extra effort. She certainly doesn’t tell him how she occupied her time that evening. She feels numb and confused, and toyed with yet again. She groans and punches her pillows  - which still smell of Sherlock. When she’s finished berating herself she finally resolves to sleep.

Just then, her phone tones an unfamiliar alert. It’s nice, a strain of notes that she recognizes as being from her favourite Paganini concerto. It’s a perfect pitch, and nothing startling like all the other default ringtone options. She stares motionless at the screen as it reads, “ _(1) New Message from Sherlock Holmes_.” He had apparently personalised his text alert that evening – probably when she left her bag behind at the table to fetch drinks with Mary. She opens the message.

_“Thank you for your assistance. Sweet dreams. – SH”_

She sighs and hits herself on the forehead repeatedly with her phone out of frustration and anguish. _This is dumb. He’s doing this on purpose. You stupid git. He’s a stupid git too._ She doesn’t know what to reply. _You too? Thank you?  Bastard? Fuck off?_ She settles on aloof-but-could-be-construed-as-biting.

_“Good night, friend. – Mx”_

She turns off her phone completely after it sends and buries herself under the duvet. _Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Don’t think. Just effing sleep._ Sherlock’s smell is fading but it comforts her and agitates her all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Molly’s intake calculations are based on 69% of 125ml and 568.261ml, the accepted standard measure for wine and beer respectively. The guys’ original intake, 443.7ml is 78.08% of a standard British pint (568.261ml). I figured Molly was smaller so couldn’t handle as much...also...69.
> 
> Ye Olde Mitre is a real pub in Holborn. In real life it’s not open on weekends, I took liberties for the story. You can take a Google Street View tour of the inside: [hopefully here.](https://maps.google.com/maps?q=ye+olde+mitre&ll=51.518037,-0.106784&spn=0.004186,0.009645&sll=51.518439,-0.107424&layer=c&cid=4295855119676541048&panoid=UZ-PukapoogAAAQIt5nCQg&cbp=13,171.38,,0,0&t=h&z=17&cbll=51.518419,-0.107401)


	5. Monday

In the end she doesn’t ever really get to sleep. Her alarm goes off at its usual time for a work day and she wants to cry. She seriously considers taking a sick day but she has to attend some regular meetings with the hospital higher-ups - even though she isn’t really ever needed to contribute. She doesn’t mind putting in the face time really, but today she just wants a lie-in.

She drags herself to Bart’s and sits in the meetings only hearing half of what is said, and mostly thinking about absolutely nothing. Despite her best efforts to remain hydrated and caffeinated she still has a headache and won’t have access to paracetamol until she can get back to her desk.

Finally, she’s able to break away and attend to her throbbing brain. She steps into her office and rummages around her desk drawers for her usual bottle of pain pills. _Empty. Damnit, Hooper be more responsible!_ Then she remembers she’s in a hospital and has access to basically any pain medication known to man. She walks out, intent on getting up to the pharmacy and back before the lunch rush, when she comes face to face with Sherlock Holmes. _Not again._ Her face remains pleasant as usual, not betraying her slight dread.

“Oh, um. Good morning. Which body to you need to see?” She keeps her voice steady and professional.

A small twitch of his eyebrow is almost imperceptible. He hands her a small box of paracetamol and a take-away cup. “Thought you could use this.” His face is an impassable mask. “I’ll be clearing out some old experiments today.” He turns and walks quickly toward the lab.

“Ok...” She considers the objects in her hands for a moment but resigns herself to accept his generosity. She follows him to the lab, sits down at a work bench and takes a sip of the perfectly prepared green tea he brought her. Molly swore by green tea as a hang-over cure (even though there’s no scientific basis for it) and she wrinkles her eyebrows trying to work out how he knew that. _He knows everything_.

There will be no one else in the lab today as her usual gang of students are on a different rotation this week. He shuffles around between the refrigerators and the incubators collecting his petri dishes. He must have some sort of organizing system because he appears to sort them, throwing some in the sanitizing sink and placing others near one of the microscopes.

Molly finds herself just sitting and watching him. She’s not really thinking of anything in particular, mostly staring through him when he’s still for a long time. She’s woken from her haze when her phone beeps obnoxiously – somehow more detestable than usual.

“You should change that alert.” Sherlock says not looking up from his cultures and the microscope.

She tries to hide a smile while giving him a pointed look, “Was it you playing?” He nods once and she grins unreservedly while she checks her phone.

( _1) New Message from Tom Altamont_

_“Have to stay in Manchester an extra day. - Tom”_

Somehow Molly isn’t bothered at all by this news. She can only think to txt back, _“Okay. Hope it’s successful. –Mx”_

She resigns herself to get some work done and busies herself around the lab. She sorts her own tests still in progress, and has stacks of paperwork to complete. Sherlock is up and walking around the lab again, gathering supplies from the shelves very near where Molly is working. Suddenly he reaches in front of her to collect a bottle of saline, bracing himself with a hand on the small of her back. Molly stiffens and he seems to take forever to move away.

Molly’s brain is numb. _Pull yourself together it never means anything_. She shakes her head and returns to her work. Sherlock flits around a bit more and actually washes up the containers and tools he’s used. He leaves without saying anything just before 1pm. She sighs and whispers “Bye then?” after him.

Half an hour later he returns holding a sleeve of fresh chips and a Greek salad from the deli across the street – her favourite. He doesn’t say anything, just sets the salad in front of her and pulls out a set of plastic utensils from his pocket. It takes a minute for her brain to work properly and form words.

“Er...sorry, I should have asked. Maybe you wanted to go out? Or something else?...Chip?” He holds out the paper sleeve to her.

“Wha...um...” She clears her head with a small shake and takes one, “Thank you, Sherlock.”

He nods and returns to his work. She finishes her salad and he doesn’t stay much longer after that. Before leaving he seems to make a point of walking near her. “Thank you for your time, Molly.”

“My pleasure,” she gives him tight smile as he strides out the door. She could swear he was smiling as well.

-

That evening, Molly makes herself some tea and ensures Toby’s dish is full. She sits down with a _Never Mind the Buzzcocks_ rerun on in the background and commits to changing the alerts on her phone. She manages to change the default to something less annoying but gets bored and gives up on personalizing anyone’s alerts... _except for Sherlock’s_. She checks and sure enough, he has a custom alert for both calls and messages.

Just as she’s putting it down on the coffee table, it signals a new message.

_(1) New Message from Mary Morstan_

_“I’m worried that Tom is secretly a Tory. He apparently likes Cameron?!”_

Molly blinks at her phone. _Huh?_ How had politics never come up in their relationship? No, they had come up. She knew they didn’t agree on some issues. _Why would Mary care?_

_“That’s...weird. I guess I didn’t realize his leanings went that far.”_

_“Well we’ll just have to steer clear of that subject when we have you both over for dinner.”_

Molly laughs to herself, _“Sounds like a plan.”_

Only as she’s getting dressed for bed does she realise she hasn’t heard from Tom all evening. Disappointed, but not wanting to disturb him in case he’s busy or already asleep, she makes herself go to bed as well. She searches for Sherlock’s scent in her sheets but it’s almost nonexistent. A part of her heart breaks at the thought of losing it. Frustrated, she flips her pillow over and the smell of him ends up filling her nostrils. Sleep comes quickly after burring her face and drinking him in.


	6. Tuesday

Molly’s Tuesday is typical except that she performs three autopsies back-to-back and it makes her muscles ache. She gets into a bath right away when she gets home to relax before making her tea. She’s been soaking and dozing for about 10 minutes when she hears her front door open startling her back to reality. “Tom?” she calls still in the tub. When there’s no answer she gets out quickly and haphazardly pulls on her dressing gown panicking. _Oh, fuck! A burglar?!_ It’s difficult to think of something to act as a makeshift weapon and she grabs her hairdryer for no particular reason. She carefully peeks around the door before tiptoeing down the hall, into the sitting room. _You can do this...you can do this...should have had your phone with you._

“Hello? Who’s there?”

Sherlock walks out of the kitchen holding half a biscuit and chewing. _Jesus Christ!_ Molly’s so stunned she just stands there for a moment blinking. Sherlock flicks his eyes down her body and back up to her face. It restarts her brain and she grabs her dressing gown around herself to make sure it’s covering her bits. _Oh shit, what did he see?_

“What-? What are you-?”

“Sorry, I knew you weren’t expecting Tom. Should I...” he looks back toward the front door.

She relaxes a bit at his awkward stance but still stares at him, “No, no it’s fine.” _Is it fine? Is it?_

Sherlock glances at the hairdryer in her hand, “I’m actually supposed to use a diffuser.” She can’t help but laugh at his joke. “Seriously though, what were you planning on doing with that to defend yourself?”

Molly holds it up and searches for an answer, “Um, hit you I guess? Though it would have meant the loss of a great hairdryer.” She walks back to the bathroom and cleans up, leaving Sherlock to himself like she usually does when he drops in.

She makes herself dinner, leaving some extra spaghetti bolognaise out in case he’s hungry.  He’s stretched out on the sofa and Toby’s curled up on the chair. Molly considers rousting the cat until Sherlock moves his feet so she can sit with him. They watch BBC News for a while, not saying a word. He does get up for all of five minutes to eat and she pretends not to notice. Eventually she can’t hide her yawns anymore and rests her head on her hand.

“You should get to bed. You have to work tomorrow.” Sherlock says, eyes still fixed on the telly.

Molly doesn’t say anything, just looks at her feet resting on the coffee table. Usually he takes the bed when he stays over, and she doesn’t know what to do.

“Go on, then. I’m fine here.”

She considers it for a long moment. _Is it fine?_ It’s certainly not the first time he’s stayed the night since returning from the dead. But...it was different those times. They hadn’t spent a lot of time together before hand. Had she really seen him for the past five days straight? And except for Saturday afternoon, Tom was always at least in the city. Having Tom so far away suddenly made her nervous and guilty.

Ultimately she gets up and goes to bed. She lays staring at the ceiling, deluding herself for a while before she realises the kitchen was left a mess. Getting up quickly she practically throws the door open and is surprised to find Sherlock is right there, leaning against the wall. _Oh shit!_ He’s just as startled as she is. Neither of them says anything for a minute, their shock melting into something else. Something tense.

He takes one step toward her and the blood is deafening as it pumps in her ears. With a slight smile he leans down and kisses her on the cheek. _Like he always does_. It lingers longer than the previous times and she presses her cheek into him. She can’t help it, it just happens. Her heart is pounding through her chest and the movement...just happens.

Well, that’s what she’ll tell herself later that night as she lays awake in bed alone. Sherlock exhales a breath, tickling her ear, before straightening up and walking out the front door. He doesn’t look back. She doesn’t call out to him. She wants to cry...or something, but she’s not exactly sure what she should be upset about. She slams her bedroom door instead and rips the sheets off her bed in a rage. The bed gets fresh sheets but kitchen stays untidy.


	7. Wednesday

Morning comes all too soon. She oversleeps and has to rush out the door for work. While walking into Bart’s her phone beeps her new text alert.

_(1) New Message from Tom Altamont_

_“Getting the 10am train into Euston, fancy some lunch?”_

She smiles to herself but it’s a fake smile. _Have to work on making that convincing_. There’s something heavy weighing on her that she can’t place. She should be happy that her fiancé is returning from his trip. She should be eager to see him.

But she’s not.

-

Sherlock’s already in the lab, seated at a microscope when she walks in. Her breath immediately catches in her throat and it takes a deep breath and a small swallow to brush it away. _Haven’t done that in ages_. She sets to work herself, directing a general and hopefully cheery, “Good morning” to the room.

There is an additional pathologist in today, as well as two students. She has to pick up a case file from a stack next to Sherlock’s area. No doubt he pilfered it from her neatly organized work station earlier. She stands next to him for a moment, glancing at the file. “Quite the crowd in today. Wouldn’t think you’d stick around.” He gives her a long side glance.

Just behind her one of the students is carrying more beakers than they should. Molly can’t see the scene play out because her back is to them. All she knows is that Sherlock’s hand has darted out and taken hers, and pulled her close to him. It’s her left hand, he’s staring at her wide-eyed, and crushing her fingers with his own. It’s only when the student apologises that Molly realises something else happened in that moment.

The slight pain in her fingers registers in her brain and she looks down at her hand. Sherlock relaxes, but his grip on her remains firm. “Sorry, I just...” he tries to explain but trails off. It’s then that he looks down at her hand still grasped in his. He releases her abruptly like he’s been burned and turns back to his station.

Molly finally has the opportunity to turn and survey the damage caused by the student. The remains of at least six beakers litter the floor. When she turns back to him, he’s looking at the palm of his hand where she can see what looks like an imprint of her engagement ring. He rubs at the spot absentmindedly with his thumb before clearing his throat and returning to his work.

As the day ticks closer to Tom’s arrival, Molly doesn’t feel great. Her head is pounding from having to clean up the lab, and lecture the students once again on the proper handling of chemicals and lab equipment. At half-twelve her phone beeps her txt alert. Before she can look at it, Sherlock strides past her, “Good day, Molly. Tell Tom ‘hello’ from me.” He quickly vanishes and she can only blink at the swinging door in his wake.

_(1) New Message from Tom Altamont_

_“Actually almost on time. I’m at Pret when you’re ready.”_

She sighs inwardly. _I hate those places_. She has to make him clarify which one because there are several in the immediate area.

The restaurant ( _if you can call it that_ ) is quite busy. Tom is seated on one of the stools at the long window seating space. They embrace and Molly puts on her best show of being happy to see him. She doesn’t want to ask why he chose this place when he knows she doesn’t like this franchise. She plasters on a smile instead.

Tom gets their coffee and food, and they sit and eat without talking much. She tries to get him to talk about the story. It’s something to do with a town’s bid for Village of the Year. She doesn’t really care.

They agree he’ll spend the night at her flat since he doesn’t have any food in his and he’s already packed. He leaves her to finish her shift and goes on ahead.

The rest of Molly’s day goes smoothly. No more run-ins with students. She picks up some special treats from the Marks & Spencer’s inside King’s Cross before she changes trains – cakes, wine, the fancy scones for breakfast tomorrow.

When she enters her flat it occurs to her that it’s unusually quiet. Normally Tom would have the telly on, or the stereo in the background, but it’s silent. She hangs up her coat and heads toward the kitchen with the food. That’s where she finds him, sitting at the table, staring at two dirty mugs, two dirty dinner plates, and two sets of dirty cutlery.

Maybe it doesn’t register in her brain what the dirty dishes represent. Maybe she’s just tired from the rough week so far. But she pauses in the door and asks, “What’s wrong?” with possibly too much annoyance in her voice. _Why is there any annoyance at all? Be nice, he’s had a rough week too._

He doesn’t look up at her right away but his face changes, pinching into a grimace. “He was here.” It’s not a question and it’s not kind.

She sighs audibly and places the M&S bags on the counter. They’ve had this talk before. He is well aware that Sherlock occasionally spends the night. After Sherlock came back from the dead, Molly made a point of making sure Tom was okay with it resuming. She thought he had agreed. _He did agree, right?_ “Yes,” she says a little tensely.

“You didn’t let me know. You usually let me know.” He finally looks up at her and just glares.

Molly suddenly realizes she’s never seen him angry before. It’s not attractive. She doesn’t get the usual urge to comfort and calm the anger away. Forcing herself to smile sweetly she apologises and makes excuses for having not wanted to bother him. It doesn’t seem to placate him at all.

“How long is this going to continue, Molly? Is he just going to come in when we live together? When we have children? How long?!” he shouts.

This makes her take a step back and put up her defences. “First of all, he’s my friend. I help _all_ my friends, whenever they need it, in _every way_ I can. It’s what I do, you know that.” She has to take a calming breath to keep the irritation out of her own voice. “He doesn’t have very many people to lean on I can’t very well turn him away. Besides, he probably won’t even want to stay here after we’re married.”

Tom considers it for a moment and finally nods. The anger in his face had drastically reduced while she spoke.

“Also, _children_? Plural?” she laughs lightly, trying to make it into a joke.

Tom just looks confused. “Yes, of course. We’re having at least five,” he says without any irony.

“We are?” panic rises in her chest. The very few times in her adult life she thought seriously about being a mother, she had certainly never pictured more than one child.

“Yes, of course,” he says again. “And we’re not staying here, we’ll move out of the city so we can afford to have you stay at home.”

She can’t help that her eyebrows rise sharply. She has to swallow twice before she can speak, “I’m not going to work?”

“Of course not. My mother never worked. My father was the breadwinner, that’s how it’s supposed to be.”

Her flesh is searing with rage now, but she maintains her calm face, “How it’s ‘supposed’ to be?”

“Of course.”

“You keep saying ‘of course’ like this is already arranged. Like this is what was going to happen all along. But we’ve never actually discussed this.”

Tom relaxes a bit, “I suppose we haven’t. I just assumed you wanted to have the same life my parents’ have. I’m sure it was mentioned after we got engaged.”

 _Was I totally munted for that conversation?_ Actually, it was highly probable that she was. Tom had coincidentally popped the question during the (second) anniversary week of Sherlock’s fall. She had taken to going out to drinks a lot more that week – with friends, with colleagues, with anyone who was available – just so she didn’t have to be alone with her thoughts of him and where he might be. Her blood alcohol content was consistently over the legal limit by 8pm everyday that week. Luckily, she had never even tried to get a provisional let alone a full driving licence. _And what’s the point of owning a car in London?_

When she realizes no one has spoken for a while she makes herself busy finally clearing away last night’s dinner. “Well, we can revisit it another time. You probably didn’t have any nice meals while you were away.” Truthfully, she just doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. His plan for them seemed to come out of nowhere in her mind, but he had been so calm in relaying it all. She needed time to think on it herself. Even if she could bring herself to consider having more than one child, she never wanted to leave London, and _certainly_ didn’t want to stop working.

They eat dinner and go to bed. Initially, they cuddle and snog but Tom starts snoring between kisses and Molly eventually gives up. Which is fine, because she’s not sure if her mind was really in it at the moment.


	8. Thursday

The next morning Tom has to leave before breakfast. Molly has the late shift so she eats scones and jam by herself. She lays around in her pyjamas, trying to catch up on her reading but ultimately just thinking about their conversation last night. Tom’s “of course,” repeats in her head. None of it sits well with her.

At half-two she decides to take a quick nap on the couch so she can stay up late for her shift. She closes her eyes and tries to picture what her future child(ren) might look like. She tries to change their faces but no matter what, _every time_ , they have dark, curly hair and cool blue eyes. Even in her dreams she chastises herself for thinking of Sherlock instead of Tom.

She begins to emerge from her sleep a short while later, aware that someone is sitting and reading in the arm chair by her head. _Tom._ She makes a little noise to let him know she’s awake, but she remains curled on her side and keeps her face buried in the back of the couch. She hears him shift to kneeling next to her and feels his hand on her shoulder after a few seconds. She leans into it and moves to face him. _Not Tom._

“Sherlock.”

“Molly.” She blinks at him for several seconds while he stares back. “I just wanted to read your copy of _The Lancet_.”

“Ok...You don’t have one?”

“Spilled blood on it.”

“Oh,” she says like it happens all the time.

He still hasn’t removed his hand from her shoulder, in fact his grip has apparently tightened because the pressure registers in her brain and she looks down at it. He doesn’t remove it at that, only after, when she looks back up at him.

“Tea?” she asks trying to sound calm.

“Please. One sugar, milk -”

“Milk last. I remember,” she cuts him off with a smile and stands up.

She hears him enter the kitchen just after the kettle boils. He leans against the counter - possibly too near her - while she fixes their cups, and reaches across her to put the milk away when she’s finished. Neither of them moves to sit elsewhere.

After a few comfortable moments Molly smiles at him, “Any new experiments or cases in the works?”

He nods and gives his usual half-smile. “One of the cultures I had neglected produced an interesting result. I’m considering publishing a post on my website summarising my analysis of mould spore patterns.” He looks intently into his cup, “Not that anyone will read it.”

She can’t help but smile. “I still read your site. Well, I would if you posted something new. I’d be more than happy to take a look at your analysis even if you don’t want to put it online.” She starts to take a sip, “Of anything, not just mould.” ‘ _Of anything.’ What was that supposed to mean?_

“Thank you, Molly.” He takes a few more sips, “I’ll leave you to get ready for your shift. Thank you for the tea and the use of your _Lancet_.”

“You can have it if you like,” she says happily.

He stares at her and seems to think about it for a second, “That’s kind of you.” She nods and waits for him to say something else but he doesn’t.

As he sets his cup down their fingers brush accidentally. Molly can feel her heart rate jump and she hopes it doesn’t register on her face. His hand lingers and she looks up at him again. Now that he’s done it a few times recently she thinks she recognises his pre-cheek kiss stare. _Do it. Just kiss me_. She makes a mental note to chastise herself fully for that one later.

Indeed after a few more seconds Sherlock leans down and brushes her cheek lightly with his lips. Their fingers are still touching on the counter, though also still wrapped around their respective mugs. He breathes a few times against her cheek and pulls back only slightly. Their lips are almost aligned. If she leans in, just the slightest bit, they would touch. _No. No, this is wrong. I can’t do this._

“I can’t do this,” she breathes. _But God do I want to._ _Fuck. Don’t think that._ He moves slightly further away and they look into each other’s eyes. Internally she strengthens her resolve, “You have to stop.”

He looks sad. A similar sadness like he had before the ‘fall’ and she immediately wants to take back her words. Without another utterance he leaves her flat.

After she’s sure he’s gone she cleans up every trace of him being there that day. She knows she’s not ever going to tell Tom. If Sherlock ever comes by again, she probably won’t tell Tom then either.


	9. Friday

After pulling the late shift on Thursday, Molly is happy to have Friday off and a long weekend. She putters around her flat, doting on Toby and generally relaxing. Tom comes over for lunch, which is fine. They make general conversation about anything but themselves and their relationship. They’re both lounging in the sitting room a few hours later when Molly gets the txt from Mary about their girls’ night plans. When Molly casually mentions the outing to Tom his angry face reappears.

They have a short row about her “being allowed” to see her friends. Tom leaves in a huff and Molly doesn’t do anything to stop him. In fact she’s well and truly pleased to see the back of him.

The girls’ night do is successful. Someone has pulled, and almost everyone stays the whole time. Mary and Molly chat a bit about general things, but Molly can sense Mary wanting to say more. Eventually she asks after Tom.

“He’s fine,” Molly says unconvincingly, avoiding looking at her friend.

Mary stares at her for a second but nods eventually. They change the subject and part company a short while later.

Much later that night, Molly dreams about a dark haired man she can’t be with. Her dream self won’t allow her to act out a fantasy she knows is wrong. _You’re almost married. You can’t do this. You have to stop._


	10. Saturday

Molly has a lie-in on Saturday. Tom txts her mid-morning to apologise for shouting, and also asks her to come over for dinner. She agrees because she can’t think of an excuse.

She meets him at his flat and ends up agreeing to stay the night. They watch telly and go to sleep without having sex. He doesn’t initiate but she was ready to feign a headache if required. The truth is she’s just not in the mood. Something like dread is filling the back of her mind when she thinks of the man she’s agreed to marry. She’s been trying to push it away but it keeps creeping back in. And nothing he does reminds her of why she said ‘yes’ in the first place.


	11. Sunday

Sunday is when it happens. They’re brunching at his flat, and Tom makes a comment about being like his parents. When she looks back on this moment years later she won’t even remember what the comment was. It doesn’t matter. Their relationship had been tense since...well, she didn’t want to admit how long.

They sit on opposite ends of Tom’s sofa after shouting at each other for twenty solid minutes about whether or not she will quit working after they get married.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she mumbles into her hands clasped to her mouth. “I’m sorry, Tom. I can’t. It’s not...good.” With her mind drawing a blank all she can conjure up is Sherlock’s usual phrase. _Don’t think of him now. It’s not about him. ...Not_ all _about him, anyway._

Tom just blinks at her for a few seconds but nods. She almost feels like crying but it doesn’t seem worth it right now. She slips off her ring (no, not hers anymore) and places it on the coffee table. They both stare at it for a second but she gets up and leaves pretty quickly.

With her mind in a dark hole and her eyes on her fidgeting hands, she forgets to get off the train at King’s Cross. It takes her three stops to realise – Baker Street. She has to at least change directions so she alights and stands on the platform, staring at the “Way Out” sign for several minutes.

“You’re an idiot,” she says out loud. The happy commuters don’t pay her any attention. _Just another raving lunatic_. Eventually she turns and changes platforms to head home.

Back safely in her flat she bolts the front door and sinks down on the couch. She cuddles Toby as much as he allows. Eventually she drifts off to sleep and dreams about crying. Her dream-self throws a strop to rival all others to come before it. Molly wakes up around midnight with a sigh. She’s too numb to do anything else.

Having slept most of the day she now putters around the kitchen trying to will hunger to come. She knows she should eat something, but it doesn’t seem worth the effort. She has one cup of tea and just stares out the window for a while. That’s where she stays most of the night.


	12. Monday

She gets into work several hours too early because she couldn’t sleep and she doesn’t want to stay in her flat alone for another second. All she feels is dread and she wants to start drinking at 7am. But she knows it’s not the answer, especially when she has to be at work anyway.

Her phone rings while she’s staring unfocused at the paperwork in front of her. _Incoming Call...John Watson_

 “John?”

_“Good morning, Molly. Can you meet us at Bart’s? I need you to run a test.”_

“Yeah I’m already here. What sort of test?”

_“It’s Sherlock. We’ll see you in a few minutes.”_

The mention of Sherlock gets her blood pressure up. She just sits there staring at her phone until they all walk in. Mary comes through the door first looking both annoyed and sorry to be intruding. She’s followed by two men she doesn’t recognise, well, one’s more a boy. They both look a little zombie-like. Sherlock enters next, pushed in forcefully by John who doesn’t let go of him. Sherlock looks terrible. She’s never seen him in these clothes before, or so unwashed.

“Molly, sorry to be bothering you, I don’t want to impose on your morning too long. We’ll need a pot for a urine test, and some bandages for our sprained friend here.” John points to the older and taller of the two strangers.  Sherlock stares straight ahead, or at the ceiling, or scowls at John. Molly fetches the jar and hands it to John, when Sherlock refuses to acknowledge her presence.

She finds bandages and waits in the lab with Mary and the two strangers. After a few moments, John manhandles Sherlock back into the lab and finally lets go of him as he hands the sample to Molly.

Being a doctor she’s held probably a million urine samples, but being handed Sherlock’s feels...wrong. She knows exactly what she’s supposed to be testing for without even asking. She knew it the moment John called her. Her guts churn as she divides the sample and performs the tests. She feels like she’s going to be sick when the chemical reactions show they’re positive. _The man you love This is what you get_. _Heroin cut with GHB_.

“So is he clean?” John asks.

Molly’s heart is in her throat and she feels like crying but won’t give Sherlock the satisfaction of her tears. “Clean?” Something comes over her and she plants her feet in front of him, challenging. _Look at me. You prick._

He looks stricken but he stares straight ahead and it sends even more rage through her body. Before she can think of anything to say her right hand reaches out and slaps him. And again. It’s like she’s outside herself and watching as he absorbs the second blow to his face. So she smacks him for a third time, with her left hand. His impassable face is more than she can take.

“How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with, and how dare you betray the love of your friends. Say you’re sorry.” It seems natural to ask him to apologise to everyone. It’s not the first time she’s made him do it. Her voice is strained but she doesn’t falter.

He rubs his cheeks and for an instant she’s the one who almost feels sorry. “Sorry your engagement’s over. Though I’m fairly grateful for the lack of a ring.” She wants to hit him all over again.

“Stop it. _Just. Stop it_ ,” her fists are clenched of their own accord. _You fucking bastard_. She wants to scream at him but she’s held back by the presence of people she doesn’t know.

Sherlock claims that this is for a case. _How could that even be possible?_ Her mind is still numb as the one stranger keeps talking. Well, _deducing_ John’s bike riding. _Thrilling_. She stands there watching them all. Memories of them laughing and drinking together a week ago float through her mind. _Will they ever do that again?_ She still wants to vomit.

Sherlock gets a phone call and takes it in the hall. John had seemed to be in charge of the situation earlier but they all just stand there and let Sherlock leave. Molly shoots a look at John whose mouth is hanging open. When he doesn’t make a move she takes matters into her own hands and plows through the door into the hall after Sherlock. He’s pacing several meters away and gesturing with his free hand while he continues to talk on the phone. She beelines for him but by the time she’s within earshot he’s rung off. He sees her coming toward him and stands stock still, watching her.

“Come to hit me again?” he spits out the words.

“No,” she bites back, “My mistake for caring what happens to you. Everyone knows you hate sentiment.” They just glower at each other for a moment before he brushes past her and renters the lab without another word. The wind goes out of her and she has to lean against the wall for support. _This is what it’s going to be like. This is what you signed up for. Constant pain and heartbreak._

Mary finds her in the hall a minute later. She stands in front of Molly and pulls her into a firm hug. They stand embracing for a moment. When they break apart Mary studies Molly’s face. Probably for tears which aren’t there. Molly just exhales slowly and Mary nods in wordless understanding.

John drags Sherlock out by his arm a short while later. Bill(y) Wiggins and the boy, who Molly still doesn’t know, follow behind. John and Mary have a short conversation about returning home. _Isaac. The boy’s name is Isaac._ He looks just as high as Sherlock but he’s obviously not the main concern here. She silently hopes he’ll get clean, but she knows the probability of that and it makes her sad. Sad enough to weep. She looks at Sherlock again who is looking back at her, but with unfocused eyes. _Filtering. He’s filtering this conversation. Great._ Anger fills her and that stops the tears in their tracks.

After everyone leaves she spends a few minutes sitting in her darkened office alone. She allows herself to indulge in a few hot tears but nothing more. _Such is life. Life goes on._ And so she does.

-

If it hadn’t been for the morning she probably would have still been out and about that evening. But as it is she’s in bed staring at the ceiling when she gets the call from John.  This call is impossibly worse than the one she received hours earlier. Sherlock’s been shot. It’s bad. This time she does get sick, and she lays in the middle of the floor bawling. When there are no tears left to cry she gets up, brushes her teeth, takes a shower, and stares at herself in the mirror. “This is what you do. This is your life.” Her face looks foreign. She dresses and goes to the hospital where he’s being treated.


	13. Thursday (1 Week & 4 Days Earlier)

Sherlock stretched out on the couch in his dressing gown and pyjamas, fingers steepled under his chin and staring up at the ceiling. He couldn’t be sure how long he had been there. Several days most likely. Without John at 221B it was hard to keep track of the time. Sure, Mrs. Hudson checked on him occasionally but not every day. She certainly didn’t bring him every meal if the lack of plates on the coffee table was any indication. No, Sherlock was mostly alone.

And it sort of bothered him.

With a sudden need to have noise and people around him he jumped up and began dressing. _Pants. Trousers. Socks. Shoes. Shirt. Which shirt? Molly likes the purple. John likes the green. Mary and Mrs. Hudson like them all equally. Mycroft doesn’t like any of them. (Mycroft can fuck off.) Janine likes the white. Ugh. Janine. Boring._

Sherlock chooses the purple shirt.

Once outside he had no earthly idea what he was meant to be doing so he walked a little ways to the Baker Street Tube station and picked a train at random. _Circle line. Heading west. John and Mary live in Notting Hill._ So he alighted at Notting Hill Gate and walked to their flat. He’d never actually been there before, but suddenly he was standing outside of a typical London row house, with its tiny, walled-off front garden. _This was stupid. They’re not expecting me. It’s rude to drop in...right? And John’s not even home._

Just as he’s about to turn around, Mary appears in the doorway, “Sherlock! Why are you standing in the road? Come in, you loon.”

He thought about just leaving because he really didn’t need to be there. He had no reason whatsoever. But his feet carried him through their gate, up the steps and into their ground floor flat. It was a spacious place for the building being so skinny. The ceilings were high, the front room was ample, the kitchen was reasonable, and he assumed the bedroom was also adequate. He wondered if they would move once the baby arrived.

Mary made tea as he surveyed everything. He smiled to himself seeing John’s meagre belongings scattered in with what were obviously mostly Mary’s possessions. _Well, everything belongs to both of them now, right? That’s how marriage works?_

“Sit down, Sherlock. Make yourself at home,” Mary said setting the mugs down on the coffee table. Once they were both seated she looked at him expectantly, but also kindly. “Welcome to the flat, by the way. Did you want a tour?”

“No, thank you,” he says sipping his tea.

“How is Mrs. Hudson?”

“Fine.”

“And Mycroft?”

“Fine.”

“Any difficult cases recently?”

“Not really.”

“Ok,” she takes a sip of her tea. “So are you going to tell me why you’re here or am I still guessing?”

Sherlock looked at her suddenly, taken aback.

She smiled at him expectantly.  “Not that you’re not welcome, just that...you don’t visit. I always see you at Baker Street.” Sherlock shrugged and turned back to his tea. “Are you lonely, Sherlock? Is that it?”

He scoffed mid-sip and almost spilled tea all over himself but luckily managed to avoid it.

“Ok, well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like, but I’m working half a shift and hopefully going out for drinks with the other nurses. Well, they’ll drink. I’ll watch. I was going to ask Molly Hooper to come along. Have you seen her at Bart’s recently?”

Something in Sherlock stirred at the mention of Molly. His voice croaked slightly as he answered, “Mo-lly? I last saw her on Monday,” he smiled to himself. “She somehow managed to get her lab coat _and her hair_ caught in one of the cold chamber’s doors in the morgue. I had to free her after about ten minutes of struggling.” He exhaled a small laugh through his nose and turned back to Mary. She was grinning from ear to ear. “What?” Mary just shook her head. “What?!”

“Nothing, Sherlock,” she kept smiling. “I’ve just _deduced_ what’s bothering you, that’s all.”

“No you haven’t. From what? I don’t even know what’s bothering me.”

“Ah! So there is something then.” Sherlock scoffed again. “And I know what it is.”

“What?”

“A certain pathologist,” Mary said casually.

“Who? Molly? What about her?”

“You miss her.”

“I just saw her three days ago, how could I miss her?”

“Because you like her.”

“Of course I like her, she’s a good scientist.”

“And a friend.”

“Yes, fine, she’s a friend.”

“And you like her.” Mary just stared him down.

“I just said I did, Mary! I said it! I like her. There, I said it again! Are you happy? It doesn’t mean anything. I like her! We’re friends! I’m in a strop because she’s agreed to marry one of the biggest imbeciles in London, possibly of all England. And John scolded me the last time I chased her love interest away – and that was the one time he was there to witness it. And Mycroft can’t find any dirt on him to get him arrested or deported.” _Shit_. _Why can’t I breathe normally?_

She stareed at him, a grin spreading across her face again.

“Why are you smiling? This is terrible! She’s engaged to a moron! But apparently that’s not a big enough crime for her to back out. Gah! He doesn’t deserve her! What are we going to do?!” He ruffled his hair in frustration.

“Do?”

“Obviously! We can’t very well let her throw her life away with that idiot. We’re her friends!”

“Obviously,” Mary considered him for a moment, and sipped her tea thoughtfully. “We could break them up.”

“I’m not allowed to slag him off though,” he said with much regret.

“We can do it without her knowing it was us.”

“Yeah? How?”

“A little psychological espionage.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her. “She’s obviously still in love with you. You only have to plant the seed and wait for it to grow.”

“What? I mean, how do I do that?”

“By letting me help you. I swore revenge on that prick after the words ‘meat dagger’ left his gaping maw at my wedding.”

They spent quite a while hashing out their plan. Mary was to become even chummier with Molly while subtly cutting Tom down at every instance.  Sherlock was to actually be nice to Molly, and do his usual smouldering thing.

"My what?"

"I've seen the way you look at her. Keep doing that."

"Oh."

He wasn't sure it was going to work.

-

Later that evening, Sherlock again lay on the couch in his flat, staring at the ceiling. His phone buzzed and he picked it up to read the txt.

_(1) New Message Mary Morstan_

_“Persephone is go.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started out of the idea that maybe Sherlock had a hand in Molly and Tom's break up - by deducing everything that was "wrong" with Tom and texting Molly at all hours with a new fault. She'd eventually confront him about it and then the feels would come out. 
> 
> My desire to keep to the canon timeline morphed it into this, which fits ok with my other story so I made it a series.


End file.
